


Dust Bowl Dance

by Indybaggins



Category: Whose Line Is It Anyway? RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-13
Updated: 2011-04-13
Packaged: 2018-01-10 04:15:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indybaggins/pseuds/Indybaggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff's journey into becoming one of the guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust Bowl Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Goblover who wanted a drabbles series to Mumford and Sons album “Sigh No More”. Post-WL, with lots of late nights in bars.

 

 **Sigh No More**  
“This is not the end.”

Whose Line ended, and it meant much less to Jeff than it did to any of the others. Jeff _had_ noticed throughout the days he spent in the studio, (and yes, there had only been days). He had. The glances. The locked bathroom stalls. The wrinkled clothes. The utterly broken expression on some of their faces when they knew that it was gone. No more. There was, had been- Jeff corrected himself- much more there than he ever was privy to. And he never cared to connect all the dots, to force it all into a real idea, an actual suspicion, until Ryan looked at him and said: “You’re good.” And then “Come talk to me some time.” And however trivial Ryan had worded it, it felt like an invitation to something bigger. Something slightly dodgy. 

 

 **The Cave**  
“It’s empty in the valley of your heart”

So Jeff only got to know Ryan, to truly know him, on invitation. Once he had spent a night or three drinking with Ryan bitterly spewing out insults, the mystery and attraction of it all shifted into something more knowing than he felt comfortable with. Ryan didn’t just fuck. Ryan had loved. Every single one of them, Jeff suspected. And maybe Ryan himself still didn’t know that, or maybe he knew it all a bit too much, because that first year Ryan seemed to consciously will himself deeper and deeper into misery. He took up smoking acrid-smelling cigars and vomiting up whiskey. And Jeff didn’t know why he was the one in piss-filled alleys escorting Ryan back to his car at three AM and Colin wasn’t. Drew wasn’t. 

 

 **Winter Winds**  
“Was it love or fear of the cold?” 

And Jeff didn’t exactly know why he was so willing either. Ryan never made a move on him. It wasn’t some kind of fucked-up hero worship. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have a perfectly fine girlfriend and friends at home either. There was nothing about Ryan that he couldn’t get elsewhere, especially because Ryan didn’t seem to need him, per se. Ryan was just as happy sleeping it off in the gutter as he was being picked up by Jeff. Ryan talked just as easily to the barmen and the strippers as he did to him. But yet Jeff kept on showing up, wanting more. 

 

 **Roll Away Your Stone**  
“I have filled this void with things unreal”

When they finally did have sex it was in Ryan’s bedroom, the grayish morning light already filtering through the curtains, Ryan’s mouth tasting sour, his dick only half-hard. And Jeff knew even before his pants were off that this was just one gigantic mistake, but yet he wanted to make it anyway because it was the only thing that truly would make sense, anymore. Ryan’s body already felt comfortable; he had been close enough often enough to know the outline of his shoulders, the strength of his arms. They jerked each other off, too clammy, pale hands, a sigh from Ryan, a hesitant, chocking breath from Jeff. It wasn’t good. Jeff’s hands shook all the way home. 

 

\---

 

 **White Blank Page**  
“Can you lie next to her?” 

It takes Jeff a month to track down Chip to a Groundlings show in L.A. Aside from passing conversation at Whose Line parties and photo shoots they barely know each other at all, but yet Chip readily agrees to meet him after in a bar anyway. 

Chip is much easier to talk to than Ryan ever was, and that irritates Jeff for a while, until Chip steers the conversation towards his wife, his kids, and Jeff wipes the politeness between them right off the table when he smoothly asks whether Chip has “an agreement” too then, like Greg and Ryan do with their spouses. Chip gets red spots all over his face and threatens to leave for a while, which is much more attractive than any of the saccharine conversation before, Jeff privately thinks. 

 

 **I Gave You All**  
“Seal the urge”

Chip says it’s none of his business in yet another way. They have been there too long, too many drinks, first beer, then wine, then whiskey, for Jeff to believe him still. Chip smiles hesitantly when Jeff makes a joke to lighten the tension. Jeff zones in on his slick lips and imagines them around his cock. 

Chip is much easier to fuck than Ryan ever would be, and Jeff bounces that idea around in his head for a while, his cock snapping in and out, Chip moaning and grasping the toilet stall door unashamedly. Chip’s ass is much better looking. His shoulders muscular and warm, skin tanned. Chip keeps asking for more so Jeff gives it to him, hard, uncontrolled thrusts while Chip’s dick smears against the filthy door. 

 

 **Little Lion Man**  
“I really fucked it up this time- didn’t I my dear?” 

Jeff sticks his fingers in Chips mouth, feels his hot spit and the raps of teeth while his muscles tighten. It’s rude, it’s delicious, and it tips him over the edge, coming, out of breath even though he doesn’t make any noise. Chip isn’t done yet, still moaning, so Jeff uses his wet hand to circle Chip’s dick, slick and fast. There’s barely any room between the toilet door and his hand but it’s enough, he presses his thumb on the top and lets his other fingers grip tight, and Chip obliges him by moaning even louder. Chip’s struggling but there’s nowhere to go, Jeff’s whole weight is pinning him against the door, and as he comes he falls forward, banging his head against the edge, hard. 

“Shit!” Jeff takes a step back, condom still hanging from his dick, pants against his ankles, one hand sticky with Chip’s come, and the other supporting Chip while he’s slowly doubling over, saying “Jeff, I don’t feel…” before he wetly throws up all over their shoes, and then kneels down in it, head leaving a red smear against the door. Jeff curses.

 

 **Timshel**  
“You are not alone in this”

Jeff drives Chip to the E.R., even though he knows he’s technically too drunk to, Chip pressing a bloody t-shirt against his forehead in the back seat. Jeff’s somewhat scared for him, for a while. Three stitches and an IV later, he’s just bored sitting in Chip’s hospital room in stinking, crusty clothes watching CNN until the sun comes up. Chip ends up being fine, too much to drink and mild concussion to go along with the cut, but when they’re waiting for the discharge papers Chip says, ‘you know Colin asked Brad to tour with him? He told me.” And Jeff has some kind of post-drunk pre-hangover epiphany when he says “Oh”. And all he can think about is how against all possible odds, he actually would love to do this too. With Ryan. Chip. The late nights, the drinking, the challenge of it all. So he says, “Well should too. We so should.” And Chip laughs.

 

\---

 

 **Thistle & Weeds**  
“More than flesh and bones” 

Still, it wasn’t really meant to happen, just a hazy fantasy when there was nothing better to think about, until it got back to Greg. For some reason, everything always got back to Greg, and in the end it was him who called, sounding tired but professional, to discuss “this idea of yours”. Greg apparently was assuming he was invited, and had already talked to Ryan’s manager, thought of locations, and looked into renting a bus, and that was how Jeff only with a simple “yes” became one of them. One of these strangely intoxicating, messed-up people. 

 

\---

 

 **Awake My Soul**  
“In these bodies”

Three months later, they are on the road. The big luxury bus has become their second home, lined with clothes, plastic plates with half-eaten pizza, beer and ashtrays, and it’s some teenage fantasy he never even knew he had come true. A different hotel room, a different city every night. And they all know it isn’t going to last that long, it’s a couple days and back to nothing, but yet Jeff feels so totally, radically fine. He doesn’t flatter himself enough to think that he was the one who made this happen. That he is irreplaceable. But the rush of the stage, the lines to cross, the way sweat sticks his shirt to his lower back, Chip’s full-body tackles, Greg’s monologues, Ryan’s dirty jokes... It’s heaven. 

 

 **Dust Bowl Dance**  
“A young man stands on the edge”

After the last show Jeff steps back into the bus, notices that the driver isn’t there yet, and strips off his shirt. Chip comes after him and jokingly plasters himself to Jeff’s back. He’s radiating warmth, and they’re both still way high on performing, so Jeff turns around and lets himself be kissed. Jeff’s unzipping Chip’s pants, beginning erection obvious through white undies, when Ryan and Greg walk in. 

There’s a moment of careful silence, but then Greg snorts, and looks like he’s about to make fun of them. So Jeff quickly steps forward and kisses Greg too, with just a rasp of lips. Jeff’s blushing, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care, this is _perfect_. Greg reacts in the best way possible: he laughs and pulls Jeff back in for a smacker of a kiss, with tongue. It’s still funny. Still deniable. Greg doesn’t seem to have any reservations about Jeff at all (“Yes!”), so Jeff takes it a step further and boldly gets down on his knees. From the corner of his eye he sees Ryan reach out, put a hand over Chip’s erection, and Chip leans into it. “Oh thank god,” Jeff thinks, before he reaches for Greg’s belt. 

 

 **After the Storm**  
“What we live for”

That first time happens fast, a somewhat juvenile type of origami to all fit onto the benches and touch each other. A lot. There’s bumping and swearing and Jeff bangs his head against the bus ceiling. Their clothes get messed up, luggage falls from above, and no one wants to sit in the wet spots when the driver finally returns. It’s fun though, too good not to do it again. They’re used to trusting each other, and this comes heretically, deliciously easy. The second time happens right after, in Ryan’s king-size bed. The third time is some weeks after that. The fourth two hours later. After the fifth, Jeff stops counting and just goes with it. 

Sometimes he imagines his own face, if _he_ would learn that it was over. He has little faith. He knows how tentative it all really is. So he loses himself a little deeper, and imagines that there is no end. 

Never.

 

 

 

 


End file.
